Let the Church Say Amen
ALSO BY RESHONDATATE BILLINGSLEY
My Brother’s Keeper
POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2004 by ReShonda Tate Billingsley
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Billingsley, ReShonda Tate.
Let the church say amen / ReShonda Tate Billingsley.—1st Pocket Books trade pbk. ed.
p. cm.
1. African American families—Fiction. 2. African American clergy—Fiction. 3. Children of clergy—Fiction. 4. Spouses of clergy—Fiction. 5. Church membership—Fiction. 6. Houston (Tex.)—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3602.I445 L47 2004
813′.6—dc22
2004050397
ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-8556-5
ISBN-10: 1-4165-8556-7
POCKET BOOKS and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
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To Morgan
(my inspiration to keep writing)
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am so blessed to be able to utilize my passion—writing. But I wouldn’t be where I am today without the love and support of so many wonderful people.
First and foremost, my husband, Miron, who not only pushes me to pursue my dreams but who has never wavered in his support of those dreams. Thank you and I’m grateful to have you, Morgan, and Mya in my life.
To my mother, Nancy Blacknell, who has shared my joy and sorrow as I ventured into this publishing world. And don’t worry—people know this is fiction … and not our family.
To my little sister, soror, and friend, Tanisha Tate—words cannot even begin to express how grateful I am to you for being everything from my personal assistant to my proofreader. Thank you for pushing my books like they were your own.
Of course, as always, much love to my sorors who cheered me on, supported me every step of the way, and spread the word to all of their friends and family: Jaimi Canady, Kim Patterson-Wright, Raquelle Wooten, Clemelia Humphrey Richardson, Kristi King, Trina McReynolds, Sabrina McReynolds, Beverly Davis, Leslie Mouton, Stephanie Jenkins, and all the rest of the lovely ladies of Delta Xi.
Pat Tucker Wilson, my new literary/writing/reporting buddy. I can count on you to keep it real. Thanks for being such a great friend and supporting me in every way. See you on the bestsellers list!
Much love to the ministers who let me pick their brains: Rev. Mark Edwards (Zion Baptist Church) and A. Byron Coleman (Fifth Street Baptist Church). Also thanks to Rev. Robert Childress (Covenant Glenn United Methodist Church) and Kirby Jon Caldwell (Windsor Village United Methodist Church), who provided inspiration for my story without even knowing they were doing it.
I have to give much love to the best coworkers in the world at KRIV-TV, Fox 26 News, especially my own boss/author Kathy Williams (who has an awesome children’s book; check it out at daddybooks.com); Linda Drummond; Misty Starks; Damali Keith; José Grinan; Isiah Carey; Joe McGinty; Bernadette Brown; Lashauna Sewell; LaQuanta Dixon; Erin Anthony; Sinan Sadar; Keith Rollins; Stan Kowalski; Lisa Whitlock; John Donnelly; Christina Garza; and Michelle Casas. (I know I didn’t name everyone, but please don’t hold it against me, I only have so much space).
Thanks to all the photogs at KRIV who understood that I just wanted to write and not carry on conversations as we traveled back and forth to our stories: Rodney Pearson, Torrey Walker, Matt Matejka, Xavier Kirts, David Lanier, Ray Williams, Dick Hogg, Chris Desmond, Todd Smith, and Harry Hulsey.
Thanks also to: Waleed Salim, Della Jones, Tulisa Hicks, Brenda Goodwin, Birdell Smith, Lawanda (LaSha) Smith, Sonny Messiah, Lucille Pervis, Stephanie Banks Packer, Russell Pierce, Keisha Tate, the Houston Association of Black Journalists (under the direction of our fabulously supportive president, Anthony Ogbo), and the men of Omega Psi Phi Fraternity, Inc., who continue to buy my books even though they’ll probably never read them (yeah, Joe and Gerald, I’m talking about you).
And I would be remiss if I wrapped this up without giving major thanks to the bookstores, booksellers, and book clubs who have shown me so much love. They include, but definitely are not limited to: Tee C. Royal (RAWSISTAZ), Yasmin Coleman (APOOO), Angie Pickett Henderson (Readincolor), The Shrine of the Black Madonna (Houston), Pyramid Books (Little Rock), and Black Images (Dallas). There are far too many book clubs to name, but I have to give a special shoutout to the members of the Brentwood Baptist Church Book Club; you ladies set the standard for how a lively, entertaining, and spirited book club meeting should go.
Finally, I have to thank you, the readers, who continue to support my work, send words of encouragement, and let me know what you liked (and in some cases didn’t like). You are the reason I do what I do.
Hope you all enjoy this one as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Be blessed.
1
THE CHOIR WAS cutting up.
Reverend Simon Jackson enthusiastically clapped as they sang “Stomp” by Kirk Franklin.
Loretta Jackson beamed as she watched her husband swing jubilantly to the music. She knew Simon wasn’t too keen on these newfound gospel hip-hoppers, as he called them, but the choir had the church on its feet. Even he had to admit they sounded good.
The choir began winding down and Simon stood and approached the podium. He was radiating with pride as he looked out at his members. And as she did every Sunday just before his sermon, Loretta gave him a reassuring smile. It made her happy to see her husband doing what he loved best, being pastor of Zion Hill, one of the best churches in Houston, as he always proclaimed.
“Let the church say amen!” Simon yelled.
“Amen!” the congregation replied in unison.
“Let’s give our outstanding choir another round of applause because they sure spread God’s message today.”
Simon led the applause as the choir members settled in their seats. Loretta was sitting in her usual front row seat. Good music always rejuvenated Simon, so she knew they were in for a rousing sermon.
Loretta opened her Bible as she glanced around. She sighed deeply because Rachel hadn’t yet made it to church and she knew Simon would take notice.
“Now, if you will, turn your Bibles to Proverbs twenty-eight, thirteen. I know everyone has their Bible, right?” Simon sang.
Several people chuckled.
“Of course we do, Pastor,” an elderly woman named Ida Hicks shouted. Simon nodded at Sister Hicks, who was sitting in the front pew as well. Sister Hicks was decked out from head to toe in white, from her huge hat that looked like wings coming off the side of her head to her white stockings and scuffed-up white pumps.
Loretta tried to stifle a smile, because Simon often complained about Sister Hicks, saying she was like the student in class who always had the answer to everything. Loretta had to admit Sister Hicks drove everyone at the church crazy, but she was the original pastor’s widow, so people still gave her respect.
“Well, wonderful. Has everyone found the verse?” Simon said as his gaze made its way to the back of the church. Loretta gently turned to see what he was looking at. She shook her head. Their nineteen-year-old daughter, Ra
chel, was trying to sneak in late—again. That meant there would be a big argument right before Sunday dinner. Simon was just about fed up with Rachel. She’d stay out partying all Saturday night, and then couldn’t drag herself out of bed to make it to church on Sunday morning. Simon always complained that if it weren’t for Loretta keeping Rachel’s two kids every weekend, his grandchildren probably wouldn’t make it to church, either.
Loretta tried not to let Rachel’s entrance sour her mood, but she couldn’t help but exhale in frustration. Not only was Rachel late, but she had the audacity to come into church with sunglasses on. Simon was going to blow a gasket. Not that it would do any good. Even though Rachel was raised in the church, getting her there before the benediction was almost impossible.
Loretta snapped back to the sermon, which Simon had begun as he tried to mask the scowl on his face. “All right, I want to talk about how what’s done in the dark will come to light.”
“I know that’s right! You preach, Pastor!” Sister Hicks exclaimed.
Simon looked at Sister Hicks and forced a smile. Loretta knew exactly what her husband was thinking. He wanted Sister Hicks to shut up and let him preach. They went through this same routine every Sunday. Loretta had thought Simon would have been used to it by now, but he still complained about it after every service.
“As I was saying, many of us do things we think nobody else knows about. But God knows!” Simon bellowed.
Loretta hoped Rachel was listening, because Lord knew she had done more than her share of dirty deeds. Simon near ’bout had a heart attack when Rachel turned up pregnant at fifteen. Then she went out and had another child three years later. Simon would barely speak to her the entire time she was pregnant. Not only was he thoroughly embarrassed, but he was extremely disappointed in their daughter. But more than anything, Loretta knew Simon was hurt by his daughter’s actions, feeling that he had failed her. Although that’s something he’d never, ever admit.
Loretta tried to get thoughts of her family drama out of her mind and focus all her attention on her husband. He was getting worked up now; beads of sweat were trickling across his brow. She admired his strong physique. For fifty-five years old, he was stunningly handsome with a commanding presence, like he belonged in that pulpit, born to lead people down the path of righteousness.
Simon continued with his sermon, urging his congregation to lead meaningful and fulfilling Christian lives. For twenty-five minutes he continued to speak the word, putting emphasis where needed, shouting when the urge came over him and delivering a rousing sermon. Loretta could always tell how well he preached by the number of people who got the spirit during his sermon. Usually, it was only ten or fifteen people, not counting Sister Hicks, who always got the Holy Ghost every Sunday. (In private Simon had once said that he thought it was all an act, but Loretta had told him, who was he to judge.)
As the organist began playing, Simon extended his arms as if opening the doors of the church, and invited people to join him near the pulpit. He smiled down at Loretta again. She gave him the standard “you did good” nod as she began swaying to the sounds of the music.
Loretta could feel the powerful love of her husband as he glanced around the room, his gaze always coming back to her. Simon always called her the saving grace in his family because she helped him keep it all together when it seemed like he just couldn’t take any more. And in between the problems with their oldest son, David, and the drama surrounding Rachel, it seemed Loretta was having to do a lot more saving these days. But she didn’t complain. She loved her husband and her kids and would do anything for them.
So far, no one had made their way to the front of the church.
“The doors of the church are still open. Don’t be afraid. Come now. Let the Lord be your guide,” Simon said.
Sometimes it took a while for anyone to come up, so Simon would usually keep his arms outstretched as the music continued to play.
Loretta stole another look at Rachel. I know she is not asleep! But that wasn’t true. She quickly turned her attention back to Simon, hoping he wouldn’t notice. Of course as luck would have it, he noticed it about the same time he was wrapping things up.
Simon took a deep breath, trying not to let his disgust show to the entire congregation, but Loretta could see it clear as day. Although she would never give up on any of her kids, Loretta knew Simon was about ready to write Rachel off, just as he’d done David. Loretta sighed. If only they could hold on two more weeks. That’s when Jonathan, the one child who had made Simon proud, would return home. Simon was already so excited, it’s all he’d talked about the last month. Simon was always a little more tolerant of Rachel and David whenever Jonathan was around. Loretta hated how Simon differentiated between the kids. But she knew his relationship with Rachel and David was something he’d have to work through in his own due time. But that didn’t mean she’d stop trying to pull her family back together. Heck, she couldn’t stop trying even if she wanted to. She believed with all her heart that she’d been blessed with a wonderful family, despite their shortcomings and she’d do whatever it took to hold them together.
2
“DADDY, PLEASE DON’T START. My head hurts.”
Rachel rubbed her temples and plopped down in a chair at the table nestled in the bay area of her parents’ large kitchen.
“You’re just shameful!” Simon was already sitting there reading the newspaper and waiting for Loretta to finish cooking dinner. He glanced up and glared at his daughter.
“I got there in time enough to hear your sermon. Dang, it ain’t like I ain’t heard it all before,” Rachel snapped.
Simon threw down his paper. “Lord have mercy! Not only do I have a jezebel for a daughter, but she’s a disrespectful, smart-talking jezebel at that.”
Simon turned to his wife, who was removing a pan of macaroni and cheese from the oven. “Do you hear how your ungrateful daughter is talking to me?”
Loretta didn’t look up from what she was doing. This, too, was a routine argument. Simon demanding respect and Rachel unwilling to give it to him. Rachel knew her mother would’ve rather stayed out of it, but she also knew Simon expected her mom to back him up.
“Honey, don’t talk to your father that way. He is the head of this household and you will treat him with reverence,” Loretta said as she cut up more onions for the roast, which was simmering in the oven.
Rachel cut her eyes at her mother. Sometimes she made Rachel want to throw up. For nineteen years, Rachel had watched her tend to her father’s every whim. She couldn’t recall them ever really arguing. Her mother was the most passive woman she knew, a trait Rachel definitely didn’t inherit. She shook her head at her mother. If she didn’t love her so much, she’d probably hate her for the horrible example she was setting for women everywhere.
“Did you hear your mother? Revere me! That means don’t show up in my church at twelve twenty when service starts at eleven.” Simon shook his finger at his daughter.
“You only want me there for appearances anyway,” Rachel mumbled under her breath.
Simon pushed his chair back from the table. “What did you say? Don’t think you’re too old for me to smack you upside your head.”
Loretta finally broke from her cooking. “Honey, don’t get yourself worked up.” She walked over and kissed Simon on the head and shot Rachel a chastising look. She then went back to cooking. Simon glared at his daughter.
“Okay. Okay. I’m sorry. I got hung up,” Rachel said.
“Hung over is more like it. You were out drinking, weren’t you? I should have you arrested for underage drinking.” Simon stood up from the table.
“Daddy, I told you a million times, I don’t drink.”
“Yeah, and I’m the pope.”
As Simon walked away from the table, his grandchildren raced into the kitchen, followed by Loretta’s black Yorkshire terrier, Brandy. A smile crossed Simon’s face and he ruffled his grandson’s hair. He looked back at his daughter and s
aid, “You think about what kind of example you’re setting for these kids.” He turned toward his wife. “I’m going to lie down until dinner is ready. Can you get the dog out of the kitchen, please?”
Loretta smiled and nodded. Simon threw his daughter one last scornful look, then headed out of the kitchen.
Rachel rolled her eyes, but didn’t interject as he left.
“Mama, we’re hungry,” four-year-old Jordan said to Rachel.
“Go tell your grandma.”
Rachel left for the den in the back of the house, where she sank into her father’s plush recliner. She had partied all night long and her head was pounding. She wasn’t in the mood for a bunch of noise from her children; she had to figure out who that tramp was Bobby was talking to last night. On her way home from partying, she had driven by his apartment and saw him standing outside talking to some woman. Although she tried, she couldn’t tell who the woman was.
Bobby was Jordan’s father, but not Nia’s, Rachel’s seventeen-month-old daughter. Rachel had gotten pregnant with her while Bobby was overseas with the army. Still, Bobby was the love of Rachel’s life; she was certain of their destiny together. She had tried to plot a way to get to Saudi Arabia to have sex with Bobby and pass the baby off as his. That didn’t happen and when Bobby came home to find her seven months pregnant, he was crushed. It didn’t help that Nia’s father was Bobby’s best friend, Tony. Bobby had said he wanted to marry her. Now, he didn’t want to have anything to do with her.
Rachel, however, was not willing to let go of Bobby, and no two-bit tramp was going to keep her from him.
Rachel contemplated getting up to go turn off the light so she could really relax, but she was too comfortable and decided she was so tired, a little light wouldn’t matter.
She grabbed the remote, leaned back and flipped on the television. She couldn’t believe her parents still didn’t have cable. Her father claimed it was just another avenue for the devil to do his work, so he refused to get it.
Let the Church Say Amen Page 1